Ice Station (Scarecrow Series)
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Anarctica is the last unconquered continent, a murderous expanse of howling winds, blinding whiteouts and deadly crevasses. On one edge of Antarctica is Wilkes Station. Beneath Wilkes Station is the gate to hell itself...
A team of U.S. divers, exploring three thousand feet beneath the ice shelf has vanished. Sending out an SOS, Wilkes draws a rapid deployment team of Marines-and someone else...
First comes a horrific firefight. Then comes a plunge into a drowning pool filled with killer whales. Next comes the hard part, as a handful of survivors begin an electrifying, red-hot, non-stop battle of survival across the continent and against wave after wave of elite military assassins-who've all come for one thing: a secret buried deep beneath the ice...
clicking of computer keys at the other end of the line. “OK, I’m sending it through now,” Alison said. On the far side of the living room, Trent flicked on his computer. He clicked through several screens, came to his e-mail screen. A small information bar at the bottom of the screen blinked: YOU HAVE NEW MAIL. Trent clicked on the “Open” icon. A list appeared immediately on the screen: It was the list Alison had got from the All States Database. The list of every work that referred to
station, Schofield and Kirsty stepped out onto the retractable bridge on C-deck. If anybody had seen them, they would have seen them walk right out onto the middle of the bridge, would then have seen him crouch down on one knee and do something to the bridge for several minutes. And then, when he was done, they would have seen Schofield just crouch down next to Kirsty and wait. A few minutes later, the British found the fuse box and the flickering stopped and the lights to the station came
“You kill your own countrymen,” Schofield said. “Scarecrow. This didn’t have to happen. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. If anything, you got to Wilkes Ice Station too fast. If this had all been done as it should have been done, I wouldn’t have to kill you now.” The Buick came to the guard station at the outer fence of the dockyard. A boom gate was lowered in front of it. The driver wound down his window and had a short conversation with the boom gate guard. And then
twenty-four hours, ionospheric conditions over continental Antarctica had rapidly deteriorated. The full force of a solar flare had kicked in, disrupting the entire electromagnetic spectrum and limiting radio contact to short-range UHF transmissions. Contact between hovercrafts one hundred yards apart was difficult. Contact with Wilkes Ice Station—their destination—was impossible. The static faded and Riley’s voice came over the speaker again. “Sir, do you remember that moving contact we picked
Renshaw!” Schofield said. In the cabin behind Schofield, Renshaw awkwardly got to his feet. Once he had regained his balance, he looked out through the side door of the hovercraft and saw the fiery remains of the British hovercraft he had destroyed. “Yikes,” he said softly. The seven remaining British hovercrafts closed in. “Book!” Rebound’s voice yelled. “I need help over here!” “Hang on! I’m coming over!” Book yelled as he yanked on the steering yoke of his LCAC. Book’s hovercraft